Strings
by The DayDreaming
Summary: You've waited a long time for the last train to pull into the station. / Touya-centric.


**Title**: Strings

**Author**: The DayDreaming

**Summary**: You've waited a long time for the last train to pull into the station. / Touya-centric.

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You're tired. It's an effort to sit up, but you do anyway, back leaning so heavily against the bench that it creases into you like a second spine.

The waiting is minutes and eons, and for a long time you fade away to stare at the sun. It's been setting for the last couple hours now, large and fiery and orange. You feel like you could grasp it in your palm and perhaps swallow it to chase away the empty feelings inside.

You think you've seen this before, this same sunset. It is perfect and sweet, and lines the smiles of…of…you don't know who. It's on the tip of your tongue, it really is; it's the largest drop of your life, and you're high and dry, trying to reach the bottom. Where has it all gone?

For a time you ponder the meaning behind the strings tied to your fingers. They are so many different colors, binding fingers tightly; so many different strands, choking skin. They're frayed and old and crinkle each time you move to wipe your eyes. You're crying but you don't know why.

The train pulls into the station smooth and easy, all hisses and serpentine grace. It is silent and white, and clicks as the doors open, letting shadows pass in and out. You cry a little harder as they wander past, their suitcases thudding against their thighs, gloves on, hats pulled over. They smell of flowers wilting in vases.

You stand, ready to board. This is the train you've been waiting for.

You shuffle on quietly, making way for a motherly shadow and the tiny, dark bundle in her arms; she bows to you in thanks and keeps moving. You think she smiles, feel it really, but there is no face beyond the slight definition of a nose and the wisps of a transparent fringe.

You find a seat in the back of the car and settle there, old and achy. The travel between there and here has been the greatest journey of your life, but you do not complain. You close your eyes and wait to be carried away. The strings on your fingers moan quietly.

Someone sits beside you, a man, tall and handsome. He too is a shadow, soft human curves faded to black.

"Why are you here?" he asks, voice far away and yet screaming at you.

It takes you a while to answer, and it is only his hand on yours that makes you lift your head, eyes peeking up.

"I waited a long time to be here."

The man shakes his head. "No. You haven't. Why are you here?"

"This is my place."

"It's not," he whisper-screams more fiercely. "It's not."

You smile at him, take his hand, so warm so hot. "I missed you, dad."

Because you know that voice anywhere.

"I've waited so long to see you again," you say. Soft, in and out, because this place is as silent as the grave and you want to be, too. "There are so many things I have to tell you. I can't wait. Everything feels so much brighter now."

His hands clench yours before moving away to slide you against his shoulder. He's warm where you feel so cold; you'd never mind a ride on his shoulders.

"You haven't grown up enough to be here. This is a journey you cannot yet travel. Aren't there others? Can't you wait a bit more?"

You think for a while, eyes fluttering. You could sleep forever in the bath of a setting sun and your father's scent, all ocean salt and dusty astronomy books. Is there anyone you've been waiting for? It comes to the tip of your tongue, but you swipe your eyes and bristle at the crinkle of the strings. They pull tightly on your fingers, and it hurts.

"…I can't remember," you admit, pulling back the covers of your memories and letting pass the thoughts of seasons and time. Has there ever been others? It strikes you how you can see them, the bodies, so full of color, but not their faces.

The strings tighten and draw past folds of skin, tugging to the bone, so much you want to scream. But you don't and lean into your father and try not to breathe. Your lungs are burning with cold.

"I wish I could sleep."

Your father runs his fingers through your hair, and you think there's supposed to be something there, but can't recall. "There is never sleep. From here, we make our choices and keep walking."

"Ah…where does the train go?"

"To the ones that need you most. I heard you, but now I must keep going forward. Someday we'll meet again," he murmurs softly, breathing deeply into your hair, like the nights where you refused to sleep and insisted on one more story. It is a breath of memory, a knowledge that this will not last forever.

"But why…," you sob and wipe your eyes and feel the sting in your hands, the old ache.

"Because you are not gone. You have not waited long enough, and your ties are binding. They are burdens that have not yet released you," your father whispers.

Quietly he tugs you up and leads you to the doors. You feel small, and the journey is as painful as before, each step a wound in your heart. He sets you on the platform outside the train and pats your hair.

"This is not the end. But you are not strong enough to be on this journey. Already you're falling away from this place. I'll see you again," he whisper-screams. He nods to you and steps back on the train. The doors click shut in front of him and the train slithers away into the setting sun, white and smooth like a shooting star.

The tugging at your fingers calls to you and you turn away. There is no waiting this time. You keep walking and remember the smell of your father and the warmth of his hands.

There are people waiting for you to get back, and though it feels like centuries with every step, you walk away from that setting sun and into the perilous darkness that so heavily looms in your heart.

There is a place for you, against someone else's shoulders, and you tread on unsteady feet to find them once more.

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"Touya!"

It's loud, like roaring. Real and there. Shadows shift beyond your eyelids.

"I miss you…"

You know them, feel their weights on your fingers.

"Please wake up."

So, you wake up.

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end

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;-; Based on the idea that death is a big ol' train, and boarding is your true death. Also, that death is another journey.

Sorry this is so crappy. I can barely qualify this as fanfiction, even though it was written with Pokemon in mind. This could be its own stand-alone story if I hadn't decided to add the end. Sorry about that. This was written at 3:30 in the morning after not being able to sleep.

If I ever manage to write a better version, I'll take this down and post that one. For now, pretend something bad has happened to Touya after "Summer Brave" and "Words that We Couldn't Say." Sorry for not replying to everyone's reviews yet, I've been busy and will be for a couple weeks. This is the last post for a while, I swear! DX

_Kinda sad when you think about that mother and her baby. Because uh, they be dead. DX_


End file.
